


The winner takes it all

by SandraMorningstar



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Casual Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mission Fic, Snark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-08 06:56:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1931043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandraMorningstar/pseuds/SandraMorningstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An agent's death in Bogotá sets off an unpredictable chain reaction. A new, powerful criminal rises and challenges Q to a deadly game of wits. The stakes couldn't be higher and as always ... the winner takes it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. King's Gambit

**Author's Note:**

> I'll upload a new chapter every week on Thursday or Friday.

Q had just booted his Laptop up when Moneypenny stormed into the room.

“M wants you in his office ASAP“, she told him, shooting him a pitiful glance. “It’s about Bond”, she added, confirming his educated guess.

_And it could have been such a nice day_ , the quartermaster thought to himself, getting up to follow her.

Moneypenny presented a remarkable speed and Q struggled to keep pace.

“What did he get up to this time?”, he asked trying to sound professional and factual, which was easier said than done. Of course he knew that the double-oh could handle almost any situation – most of the time. Bond was tough and he would rather die than … well … die. Q rolled his eyes in thought at the lack of eloquence of his inner monologue.

“He should have contacted our field office in Bogotá yesterday at five pm. But the line stayed silent”, Eve explained, cutting his thought short. “We tried to localize him – without success as the situation stands.” “And now M wants to give me the roasting Bond deserves? Oh, just fantastic!” Now he already resorted to sarcasm. _Great!_ Qs mood quickly closed in to absolute zero.

Wasn’t it enough that Bond let himself get shot at on a regular basis? Wasn’t it enough that he had the habit to just vanish – sometimes for month – just to return all of a sudden? A smile and a witty one liner on his lips, his eyes dark and empty. Was it really not enough that he drove him crazy time and time again? Obviously not. He sighed frustrated.

“Cheer up, Q! It’s just a little hacking. Nothing complicated”, Eve said encouragingly. She looked back and gave him a quick smile.

If only that were true, but they were talking about Bond here. Nothing that had to do with him qualified as “not complicated”.

\----------------------------------------------------

“Get that mess cleaned up or I will do it” Mallorys voice was cool and reserved but unmistakably threatening. Q didn’t envy the man on the other end of the line for a minute.

He waited until M terminated the call.

“I assume Miss Moneypenny has already informed you about the matter of affairs”, Mallory said without a greeting.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Take this” M handed him a non-descript USB stick. “It contains all information on Bond’s assignment in Bogotá. Find him.”

“I will. Goodbye, Sir.”

Hastily Q left Mallorys office-

Back in his department, he started working immediately. First he read the mission files.

Three weeks ago one of their agents had been found dead in his apartment. Q opened the agents personnel file – and couldn’t believe his eyes. He knew the man. “Jay”, he whispered and quickly closed the document again, a lump in his throat. Now was not the time for sentimentality, he reminded himself firmly and immersed himself in the file again. The body of the agent had exhibited signs of severe torture and after a thorough investigation it was concluded that the murder matched the modus operandi of the Alvarez cartel.

Q didn’t have to read what happened afterwards. He knew. It was protocol. An agent, who might have divulged information, had been tortured and murdered. Or there could be a mole who had sold his fellow agent out to their enemies. The rules of MI6 stated that an investigation into that matter had to take place. Not one of the boring kind with questionings and hearings, though. They sent a double-o who made sure that MI6s secrets were safe, no matter the cost. This time the job had been given to Bond.

Q looked at the file again.

Bond had suspected Fernando Alvarez, head of the cartel, not only of commissioning the torture and murder of Jay but also of being directly involved. According to 007 the young agent had spilled some secrets, which is why he had tracked down Fernando and his goons. Waiting for an opportune moment to eliminate them. Q wasn’t a fan of violence but knew that the boss of an internationally operating drug cartel could most probably not be convinced to maintain silence. Those kind of people were seldom interested in civilized conversation.

Yesterday evening Bond had followed them to a handover and had dropped off the radar right before midnight. _This doesn’t mean anything_ , Q told himself. It wouldn’t be the first time for Bond to purposely destroy or dispose of his earpiece.

Q let his fingers fly over the keyboard of his laptop, logging into the CDCS, the Central Digital Communication Surveillance. The program was one of his babies. A software to monitor all communication of MI6 and guard it against attacks from outside. Q was able to do a lot more with it. One of the perks, if you were the one designing the software your employer was working with.

He opened the administrator interface and looked up the latest backup protocol of Bonds earpiece up. The device – also one of his custom products – kept a record of everything it did and sent it to the main server in regular intervals. This would benefit him now. Q scrolled down the list. Past countless notifications about the change to a new radio antenna – irrelevant – all the way to the end.

He read the last entry twice.

At first with growing relief, then annoyed. There was written:

               23:47 ----- Manual Shutdown -----

“That bastard!”, he muttered, realizing that he himself had shown Bond how to turn off the earpieces. It was right after Bond had been almost shot because his cover had been blown by a defective radio transmitter in his earpiece. The whole affair had bothered Q greatly – after all, it was his job as quartermaster to keep things like that from happening.

He had supervised the mission. Had heard the deafening bang of a pistol. Bond’s scream. Then nothing more. Even now he shuddered just thinking back. He didn’t stop his memory, though, as it brought him back to that night.

They’d sent him home after Bond had been officially declared missing. Every agent was until their body was retrieved. Q had refused to leave. Only when Mallory threatened to have him escorted out by security did he retreat. Numbly he had returned to his apartment.

His subsequent descent into hell had taken five hours. Then the door bell had chimed and when Q opened Bond had stood right in front of him. Bloodied, his bullet wound only poorly attended to, but alive. “I got … held up. Sorry”, 007 had said in a coarse voice. A little smile flickering on his lips.

Q forced his thoughts back to present time. After that fateful night the quartermaster had insisted on explaining the functionality of the radio transmitters and the earpieces to which the agent had reluctantly agreed. Though Q hadn’t been under the impression that 007 had memorized anything of what he had told him. A miscalculation, as he realized now.

 

It was a matter of minutes to start up the earpiece transmitter again. While Q typed in the necessary commands with one hand, he rummaged through his drawer with the other in search of his headset. He found it just as Bonds transmitter signal changed to active. Q established the connection and turned on his headset.

“Bond”, he said into the static, taking good care to put as much anger in his voice as possible. He waited. Q knew full well that Bond had heard him and was only pulling off one of his power games. He wanted to make the quartermaster nervous, make him change the accusation in his voice into concern. _You can forget that!_ , Q thought. He sat on his desk, taking a sip from his Earl Grey. He had got plenty of time.

It took a whole ten minutes until Bond finally gave up and answered.

“Q, what do I owe the pleasure of hearing your voice”, the agent said and Q knew by the way he was saying it that he was grinning. The bastard didn’t feel guilty in the slightest. Not that the quartermaster had expected it.

“Can you talk?”, Q asked. He was eager to give 007 hell but in the midst of a gunfight, so he feared, his words would miss the mark.

“Nobody’s shooting at me if that’s what you mean”, Bond answered as if he’d read his thoughts.

“Good. Then nobody beats me to personally breaking your neck when you return. Are you mental, turning off your transmitter without any warning? M was about to declare you dead!”

“Again”, Bond remarked dryly and this time it was Q who grinned. He just couldn’t help himself.

“Save your jokes, 007. Because of you I got called to Ms office this morning and if I tell you that I wasn’t pleased in the slightest about this it’s an understatement to say the least.” Q sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Dealing with Bond could be really frustrating sometimes. “At least tell me you had a good reason. M will want an explanation so please put some effort in it.”

“Would it make you happy if I told you that I only let you order me about. The Q-branch chief of the department here isn’t my cup of tea.”

“You want to make me happy, 007, then – just for once – play by the rules. If that is even possible for you”, the quartermaster huffed, aware that he was about to engage in Bonds game.

“I'm afraid that’s beyond my capabilities.”

“I was afraid you’d say that”, Q retorted with a sigh. “Still, you can’t go around deactivating your earpiece whenever you feel like it. You know that it contains your GPS tracking chip and what an avalanche of paper work it sets off every time you destroy it. What am I supposed to tell M?”

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something. You can get very creative.” He laughed and it clicked as he turned his earpiece off again.

“Bond, don’t you dare–”, Q began but it was already too late. Bond had hung up on him.

 

In the end Q explained to M that the blackout of Bonds earpiece had been due to a technical defect. Which was more or less the IT-lingo equivalent of “We have no idea” but M didn’t catch his white lie. Or he didn’t care as long as he knew Bond was still standing. One could never be sure with Mallory.

On the way back to Q-branch he made a note in his mind – highest priority, tree exclamation marks – to get back at Bond for having the audacity to hang up on him mid-conversation.


	2. We have all the time in the world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a short chapter. So I'll probably upload another one tomorrow or on saturday.  
> And the next chapter will really start off the action, so stay tuned. :)

It was somewhere after midnight when Q left his workplace and went home. An almost piercing cold wind made him shiver while walking to the tube station. He passed a group of young folks – maybe university students –, laughing loudly and in high spirit on their way to the next pub.

Suddenly Q was four years in the past. The night resembled had an almost painful resemblance with this one. He stood freezing at the exit of Tottenham Court Road station until a smile surfaced from the crowd and pulled him with it. And all at once the cold had vanished.  
They ran through the streets, entering the first pub that crossed their path. They went to a late-night screening in a small cinema. Afterwards the two of them wandered the nightly streets of London hand in hand. Passing tourist attractions, monuments, clubs and homes until they finally came to his apartment. He unlocked the door and for a moment they just faced each other in silence, trying to assess the other. In the end Q took the initiative and pressed a hot kiss on his lips. He was nervous and when his friend started kissing him back after the first moment of surprise his heart made a triple somersault. It was supposed to be a goodbye. Instead it became a beginning. Intertwined they stumbled into his flat. Kissing each other senseless while getting rich of each other’s clothes. The rest of the night was only a sequence of sensations in his mind. Fingers, gently tousling his hair. Lips exploring every inch of his naked body. Hot breath on his neck.

A bitter aftertaste crept into the memory and Q cut his train of thought short. He didn’t want to be sentimental. Not here. Preferably not at all.

Back in his apartment Q plopped down on the couch, staring out of the window. He knew it would be best to catch a few hours of sleep. He didn’t move.   
The quartermaster prepared himself a pot of Earl Grey and distracted himself with the mindless night program. Most of the times that made him doze off sooner or later. Not today, though.

Another pot of tea.  
Qs gaze fell upon his laptop.  
 _Just a peek_ , he thought.

It was a bad idea. Q knew it.  
But it would be far from his first one, so …

He logged into the MI6 system with his password and opened the personnel file of the dead agent from Bogotá once again. His gaze was affixed to the photo. A leaner, formally dressed man. The black hair short and neat. _You’d never would have worn them like that in the past._  
Q read the agent’s name even though he knew him already. He needed confirmation.

Jay McQueen.

The name was familiar but the man, whose bright blue eyes stared gravely at him from the photo seemed alien. Q read the file diligently. He felt like he owed it to him.

The quartermaster had always regretted that they had lost sight of each other after graduating – or rather after he began to work for MI6. He just didn’t have the heart to lie to Jay and he would have had to if they had kept dating. So he had let their relationship slowly come to nothing.

\----------------------------------------------------

His phone rang him awake at four o’clock in the morning. Still sleepy and kind of disoriented he looked around while fumbling his smartphone out of his jeans pocket.  
He’d fallen asleep on the couch. Again.

The call came from Moneypenny.

“Q”, she said formal. So it was no courtesy call. “You’re needed at HQ.”

“Please tell me it’s not about Bond again”, he sighed wearily. He had planned to get more than four hours of sleep for a change. So much for that.

“No. It's about some important data that needs deciphering.”

“Which can’t wait till tomorrow?”, the quartermaster wondered. “And don’t say ‘England is in danger” now – it always is.” He knew he sounded harsh and was honestly sorry about it. It wasn’t Eves fault after all. She only delivered the message and as a good guy you’re not supposed to shoot the messenger.  
“Sorry”, he added with a guilty conscience. “I didn’t get much sleep lately. I’ll be on my way immediately.”

“Good”, she said curt and hung up.

Q rubbed the sleep from his eyes and smoothed out his shirt. He grabbed his keys and laptop and left the apartment.


	3. Thirdman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the third chapter, as promised. Enjoy! :)
> 
> Update: I tried to get chapter 4 up today (Friday, 25th) but couldn't make it. I originally wrote this story in german and am translating it at the moment to upload it here, too. Sadly I wasn't able to finish the translation in time because I had to take care of other stuff.  
> I'll upload chapter 4 as soon as possible.
> 
> Another Update: Sorry, I just can't find any time to translate at the moment. :(   
> I will take a short break from uploading. Next chapter will be up on August 15th. I hope you'll stay tuned and interested till then. Again: Sorry for the delay.

A silver metal briefcase awaited the quartermaster on his desk when he entered the still-empty Q-Branch. This kind of suitcase always came a long way. Under high losses and – sometimes – even higher bribes they were smuggled out of foreign countries. Hidden in the cargo bays of military or transport planes on which freight lists they never appeared.

Q snapped open the latches of the suitcase and protruded a portable hard-drive, taking a closer look at it. It was quite small, a newer model but nothing too expensive. A staple article from a popular firm. Almost untraceable. Good that this hadn't been Qs plan anyway.

The quartermaster grabbed his second laptop from the bottom drawer of his desk and connected the hard drive. He'd procured the computer after Silva had hacked into his system. He furrowed his brows at the thought of it. Such a careless mistake wouldn't happen again. He'd made it a rule that every possibly unsafe Data had to be opened on a computer that wasn't connected to the MI6 system.

He tried accessing the hard-drive to be stopped by a pop-up window asking him to enter a password. _Great!_ , he thought irritated. Without clues the only way past this was the brute-force-method and this would take a while. If it would even work at all.

Every password could be cracked using this method of course – sooner or later. Only problem: Later could be in an hour or in 3496 years. He started the program he needed and waited for the first prognosis to appear on the screen.

Approximated computing time: 5 hours.

So this was why he'd come to work at four o'clock. „This was totally worth it, then“, Q said sarcastically into the silence of the room, letting out a frustrated sigh.

 

„It could be“, answered a deep, rough voice. Grinning mischievously, hands in his pockets, Bond emerged from behind one of the pillars.

Q denied himself the smile that wanted to spread on his face.

„I hadn't expected you'd be back yet, 007, much less that you would actually bother to come in at this hour“, he said casually and rearranged some papers. Not even sparing Bond a look.

„I could have been back yesterday, if you hadn't forced me to work with the agents on site.“ It was no real accusation, none at all to be honest. As often it wasn't about what Bond said but how he said it. Almost every sentence he uttered contained some form of subtext. Mostly intended for Q.

Today the Quartermaster decided to ignore Bonds subliminal message. For now. Just to tease him a little.

He gasped and gave the double-o agent an indignant glance.

„Oh, I'm terribly sorry I forced you to proceed according to plan. It must have been really horrible for you“, he said, putting his hands on his hips in mocking anger.

Then he started smiling because Bond looked so utterly shocked, and the agent understood. He relaxed and strolled over to Qs desk.

„It was awful“, purred Bond and leaned over the table. „Almost as bad as the three broken ribs I got in Hanoi.“

„Really?“, Q asked amused, leaning closer, too. Their faces were almost touching now.

A short pause. Then Bond closed the distance between them, sealing Qs lips with a kiss before he could spout another quip. It was a short kiss, just a hello, but it promised more. Afterwards they regained their distance.

„Welcome back, 007“, Q said, honestly delighted.

„I got you something“, Bond announced.

„Your equipment, in one piece for once?“, the quartermaster asked teasingly. He hadn't much hope that this would actually be the case.

„No“, said Bond, laughing silently. It sounded rough and lively. Q loved this laugh. „It's something even better.“ Having said that he placed a mug on the table between them. A very large mug. The thing was humungous. At least twice as large as any reasonably sized mug should be. „Loverboy“ was written in big, black letters on it. Q blushed and just stared at Bond, utterly speechless. The Agent grinned like a school boy, who'd just pulled off an especially cool prank. This was exactly the reaction he'd anticipated Q to have.

„You like it?“, Bond asked.

„It is … beyond words“, Q replied still a little staggered.

„May I take that as a compliment?“, Bond asked walking around the table.

Q snorted. „I'll have to think about that.“

„Mh“ The double-o nodded thoughtful. „Maybe I can provide a little persuasion.“ He leaned forward and kissed the Quartermaster again. This time it was a real kiss. It was passionate and they savoured it for as long as possible, only stopping to take a breath. Bond buried his hands in Qs messy hair and pulled him closer. When they paused for a moment, Q sat down on the table to be a little more eye-to-eye with 007.

 

His glasses had fogged and he removed them. As he was putting them on again, Bond took them from him.

„I can't see like this, 007“, he complained.

„Then don't see, Q, feel“, came Bonds unhelpful answer. He kissed his forehead and started unbuttoning the quartermaster's shirt.

He had already opened half of the buttons when Q pushed him away, softly but determined.

„We can't … we shouldn't … not HERE“, Q stammered and tried to remember a good reason why not.

„What's the difference between here and somewhere else?“, asked Bond. It was clear that he'd rather resume what he'd been doing instead of wasting his time with idle talk but he kept his distance.

„I work here. You work here.“ Not that convincing of an argument.

„And?“, Bond demanded further explanation.

„And if we do it here I'll never be able to work concentrated on this desk again. Believe me you don't want that if the bad guys are shooting you again.“ This sounded better. Plausible and sarcastic, just as Q liked it.

„Sounds about right. What else?“

„Really? We're playing this game again?“

„Seems like it.“ He didn't have to see Bond clearly to know he was grinning. He heard it by the sound of his voice. Q sighed.

„Fine then. There's the CCTV.“

Bond leaned in to whisper into his ear. „And of course you, as quartermaster, wouldn't happen to know how to delete them.“

„It is illegal to alter or delete the CCTV recordings in any way“, he recited. „Give me my glasses back.“ He stretched out his hand demandingly and Bond handed them over. He put them on again, ending their moment.

 

They returned to professional distance. Bond pouted slightly, even though nobody but Q would probably have noticed it. The quartermaster cleared his throat.

„In how many pieces did you disassemble your equipment this time?“, he asked to break the tense atmosphere.

„Didn't make the effort to count“, Bond retorted coldly and threw a bag filled with metal and plastic shards on the table. He wasn’t … _Yes he was_ , Q realized – Bond was definitely angry with him.

He took a deep breath to refrain from yelling him into submission right on the spot. It was in no way a fair game Bond was playing here. Like he didn't have a hard time keeping his hands off the agent. He didn't even tell him no – just not now. He could drop by his apartment anytime. In private.

But having sex here, in his office, where they both worked – as tempting as this might be –, was a step he wasn't willing to go just yet. Would maybe never be.

At the moment the thing between him and Bond was easy, casual fun and he intended to keep it that way. He was just bad at articulating it. So he shot Bond a disapproving glance instead and returned to his work.

Only problem being that there was nothing to do for him. His program was still computing and would be for the next hours.

007 had taken a position next to the monitor wall. Silently, he watched every one of Qs movements.

Q tried ignoring him but you couldn't just ignore the agent. Not if he wanted to be noticed – and he most definitely wanted his attention now. Finally the quartermaster turned around in frustration. „Listen, I just don't want to make this complicated“, he resumed their conversation. Bond said nothing.

 

Shaking his head Q turned back to face his computer. Sometime conversations with Bond felt like talking to a wall.

For a while it was silent. It wasn't a pleasant silence but Q was in no mood to give in. Bond seemed to think the same. _Fine_ , Q thought, _let him be angry then_. He distracted himself by intercepting a couple million pounds in bribes and donating them to charities.

 

„Is that the hard drive I brought you?“, Bond asked. „Can you do something with it?“ He was looming directly behind Q who hadn't even noticed the agent had left his place by the monitors.

„Well, it's enciphered“, the quartermaster said, more than aware of how close their bodies were to each other.

„That's no problem for you, of course.“

„Don't be so sure about that. Thing's password protected and without any clues about the composition of said password which I'm most certainly not going to get – I just assume you haven't left Alvarez in a state to be questioned – it could take a while.“ In fact Q knew that Alvarez was dead. He'd read Bonds latest status report yesterday night.

„You're right, I didn't. But I had the opportunity to take a look around his office. Would this help?“

„No, I don't think so“, Q answered. „We'll just have to be patient and wait.“

„That's never been a strong asset of mine.

Q laughed. „That's true. How did you even get your hands on this hard drive?“

„Alvarez protected it with his life. So I thought it might be valuable.“ Bond was wearing his best schoolboy smile.

„What a clever boy you are, Bond“, Q said, smiling himself. „Do you happen to know what's on it by any chance.“

„Wouldn't want to take the fun out of it by telling you.“

„Bond, if you know something you're commited to–“

„I don't know, Q, I promise“, Bond interrupted. „Probably everything about his illegal dealings, but that's just a guess. I, for one, would want such data on hand at all times.“

„Yeah, you're probably right.“

 

\----------------------------------------------------

 

Bond kept him company over the next hour while they watched the slowly forward crepping progress bar. Q made himself tea – in the Loverboy mug which he would definitely hide in his drawer before his colleagues arrived – and brought Bond a coffee. His first try to get a coffee from the coffee machine had failed terribly but he'd gotten the hang of it since then. The result was at least good enough for Bond to not make fun of it anymore.

Mostly they were doing smalltalk. How had the weather been in Bogotá? Hot and muggy. And in London? Rainy, as always. A knowing nod from Bond.

„What's the rest of the world been up to?”, 007 asked after they had finished discussing the weather and the subject of Ms mood.

„Incredibly, quite unassuming. 002 is taking apart a human trafficking ring operating from Haiti. 006 has been called to Washington as personal security.“

„For whom?“

„If I tell you, I'd have to kill you“, Q said in a mocking tone.

Bond was about to say something when a high-pitched _pling_ signalised Q that the password had been cracked. He jumped up and headed for his laptop. Now he had access to the hard drive. The data didn't even seem to be encrypted. Still Q believed that it must be valuable. He browsed the names of the countless folders.

Suddenly he stopped, re-reading the name of the folder he'd just scrolled past. He inhaled sharply.

„Problem?“, Bond asked alarmed and glanced at the monitor. His face darkened.

 

 The folder was named: **Hello, Mr.Q**

 

„You should report this to M“, Bond suggested gravely.

Q thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. „No“, he said with determination. „First I wanna see what's in it. Maybe it's not even about me. It could be coincidence.“

„Do you really believe that?“, Bond inquired.

„No“, the quartermaster admitted. „I still want to take a look first. I'll just have to get past the encryption and then...“ He left the sentence unfinished and concentrated on deciphering the files. His fingers were dancing over the keyboard, while typing line after line of code into one of his programs. Bond took a step back and left him to his work.

He didn't have to wait long.

„Ha, there we go!“ Q burst out. „This was almost too easy.“

Bond took his place beside him again. „What do we have?“, he asked interestedly and noticeably tense.

„Not much. A PDF and an unnamed video.“ Without further ado he opened the PDF and his day took a turn for the much worse.

„Fuck!“, was the only response he could manage. It was, he was pretty sure, the most adequate reaction.

„It's your personnel file“, Bond stated unhelpfully.

„I can see that!“, Q snapped at him. His heart was racing. Shit! How did they get their hands on that? It even was the uncensored version of the document. Containing every piece of information there was about him. His full name, his address, friends, family, relatives, his psychological evaluations. As well as other things.

 

This was bad. Very bad.

It was a veritable catastrophe.

 

„Guess I'll have to tell M now“, he said in a husky voice. Closing the presonnel file he clicked on the video.

„Are you sure you want to see this?“, Bond asked carefully.

„Probably not but somebody wanted me to and maybe it contains evidence.“

Bond nodded in silent agreement.

 

\----------------------------------------------------

 

In retrospect Q wished he wouldn't have watched the video.

At first the screen was black and only static noise came out of the speakers. Then a distorted voice began to speak.

„Hello, Mr. Q. I am Thirdman. Pleased to make your acquaintance. I've been watching your remarkable work for quite a while.“ A short pause. „Unfortunately you've disrupted quite a few of my business endeavours and my consultants advised me to eliminate you. But since I'm a gentleman I'm going to give you a chance to save yourself this fate. I'm going to present you with a riddle. You solve it, I'll spare your life until the next round. If you solve all my riddles, I'm going to surrender myself. Now pay attention – this is puzzle number one.“

He laughed and a shaky camera image flickered onto the screen. Someone walked down a dimly lit hallway that had seen better days. He stopped in front of a door and zoomed in to the number on it. 402. Something in Qs memory stirred. He felt like he had seen this number before, just recently.

The door swung open and the camera entered the dark hallway of the apartment. Q realized that it was a safe house. The signs were unmistakable. Sparse furnishings. Massive wood furniture that offered coverage in emergency situations, though no reliable one. No personal items or photos. In addition, there were cameras - Q recognized the telltale red glow despite the bad recording.

The camera continued to move into the living room. A sleeping figure on the sofa came into view. An uneasy feeling crept over Q.

The video recorder was put down and a black clad figure came into view. Slowly he walked over to the couch and woke the sleeping man with a fierce kick. Q winced and Bond put a hand on his shoulder in silent counsel.

The black man overpowered the agent with frightening ease. Special training. Ex-military? Mercenary? A distorted voice was heard again, a deeper one this time.

"Please tell your name to the camera," ordered the black figure.

"Max Hamilton," came the answer in a shaky voice. A code name. Q knew because he had created this alias himself. _Max Hamilton, 32 years old, mediocre education, amateur marathon runner, works for an international seed company, orphan, occasional affairs, no girlfriend, donates to charities, loves action movies and football, …_

Every detail of Hamilton's life came to his mind again.

"Your real name," demanded the attacker and struck the agent in the stomach. He groaned in pain. "We know that you are an agent of MI6, and we know your real identity. So, your name. "

„Jay McQueen“

Q's blood froze in his veins. He knew exactly what would happen now. He had read the autopsy report.

"Wasn't that hard now, was it? Well done, Mr. McQueen." With these words, the black man grabbed the head of the agent and pulled him back so his neck was exposed. With a clear cut that almost separated the head from the body, he finished McQueen's life. But that wasn't the end of it.

 

The man turned to the camera. He wore a black skull mask which grinned diabolically.

"Pay close attention now, Mr. Q," he said.

The rest of the video was a snuff film. The skull-man mauling McQueen's body with a variety of blunt and terrifyingly sharp murder weapons. Most of them would have been fatal on their own the autopsy report had stated. Together they had disfigured the body of the agent to such an extent that they had identified him based on DNA and fingerprints only. Thirteen stab wounds in the chest, blunt trauma to the back of the head – caused by a baseball bat, as Q now saw –, cut out the tongue, hands chopped off and shot in the head at close range. The masked attacker put the gun directly on McQueens forehead and pulled the trigger. A loud bang was heard and Q just wanted to look away, but he didn't. His hands were clenched into fists.

The attacker strolled back to the camera, until the skull grimace almost filled the entire image.

"Have fun guessing," he said.

 

Then the picture went black.

The video was over.


	4. Change of Guards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the last few weeks without any update I finally translated chapter four. Yay!
> 
> There might be mistakes since I didn't send it to my beta-reader prior to uploading it. So I'll revise this chapter when she sends me her feedback.
> 
> UPDATE: So, I know I should have long uploaded chapter 5 and I am truly sorry I didn't. I'm having difficulties adequately translating what I wrote into english and until I manage to come up with a solution I can't do anything. Normally I would just ask my beta-reader but she's on holiday at the moment.   
> Again, I'm sorry I keep you waiting. Please be patient and bear with me.

"How the hell could this happen? This is a catastrophe!", M yelled when Q had finished explaining the situation.

"That's what I like to know, too", Q said angryly. "The server with the personnel files is neither connected to the main network nor the Internet. The only way to access it is via a terminal in the archive. That means either someone directly bypassed all control points, cameras and guards, marching through a building full of trained agents and has subsequently hacked into the server without leaving even the slightest trace-"

"Or it was an inside job," Bond finished his train of thought. "This is the most likely scenario."

M took the news silently. With a deep frown on his face he sat down. "I will arrange for an internal investigation. If there really is a mole, we have to find him as soon as possible.", he said after a moment of silence.

"I'll try to find out more about the hard drive and the video. With your permission, I will consult a few of my colleagues, "Q offered.

"You will do nothing", M interrupted.

"Sir, with all due respect, this message was meant for me-"

"Which is exactly the reason why you won't have anything to do with the operation anymore. You're too involved and - as much as I hate to admit it - might be in danger", M cut him short again. "I'll have an agent stationed as your bodyguard. He won't let you out of his side until this problem is fixed."

Q didn't have any desire to let some suit watch his every step. However, he had no idea how serious the threat Thirdman posed was, and didn't want to take any risk in this regard. So he accepted, albeit reluctantly.

 

\----------------------------------------------------

 

"That takes the biscuit! I'm not allowed to backtrack the video, have a bodyguard forced on me and the only thing I'll do for the upcoming weeks - or, hell, even for the next months - is typing surveillance protocols and analyse CCTV footage", the quartermaster raged while stomping back to Q branch. Bond still followed him like a shadow, also being as silent as one.

"What? You don't have a witty one-liner for me?", Q quipped. He had the bad feeling he'd regret this but at the moment he couldn't care less.

"Only if 'I'm going to find that Thirdman and kill him' counts", Bond retorted.

That stopped Q and he turned around to face 007. He mustered him intently, realizing the agent was dead serious.  
Of course it would violate dozens of MI6 reglementations if Bond liquidated Thirdman without official order. A flattering gesture it was anyway.

"Thanks", Q said, silent and glum. He sighed. "I should get back to work." He turned to leave but Bond stopped him.

"If there is trouble in any way, tell me", Bond insisted urgently. "I mean it. No matter what. No matter what time it is. I'm there for you."

Q nodded silently and walked away.

 

After Bonds little speech his anger was gone. Instead, he became aware of the full extent of the precarious situation in which he found himself. An unknown, apparently mentally disturbed leader of a criminal organization was in possession of his full CV. He'd threatened him with death and tried to force him to play his sadistic guessing game. Suddenly he felt terribly miserable.

Instead of going back to Q branch he headed for the break room that was still empty this early in the morning. With trembling hands, he made himself a chamomile tea.

He'd just sat down at one of the tables when Moneypenny came in, joining him. "I know you don't want to hear it but I'm gonna say it anyway. Watch out for yourself", she said after a few moments of silence.

"I'll try but I fear if push comes to shove I won't have a say in it anymore. Then it's up to my bodyguard to show he knows what he's doing."

"You shouldn't say something like that. Not even think it. As long as you breathe, you can to fight. Listen, I'm good at assessing people - that's why I got recruited - and I know a fighter when I see one. Now cheer up and give those bastards hell." With these words she stood up and left.  
Q was left speechless.

 

\----------------------------------------------------

 

The next weeks were simultaneously the worst and most boring of his life up to this point. M didn't just assign one but two agents to ensure his protection who took shifts guarding him. The older of the two, Dawson, was serious and silent. Q liked that.

Every morning at just before six Dawson picked up the Quartermaster in one of the company cars. He followed him like a shadow and didn't let him out of his sight for even a second.

 

Q spent most part of his mornings filing paperwork; slowly but surely realizing why Bond was at odds with any kind of reports and forms. There was no end to them. Always another form waited, another supply order or report or whatever else management could come up with. Normally he could overthrow a corrupt government as compensation or help Bond disperse a ring of smugglers but M had put his projects - all of his projects - on hold or given them to someone else.  
It frustrated Q but he understood why he'd felt it necessary. If he'd carried on managing missions he'd just endanger the field agents as long as Thirdman had it out for him.

Thirdman, who still remained a mystery according to Qs sources. The name had already appeared a few times in MI6 case files, never more than a short side note. No one knew who he was. No one had seen him, because he acted through intermediaries. He'd appeared a few years ago out of nowhere with his small but frighteningly efficient group of mercenaries and assassins. He had no past, no relatives, no criminal history.  
He was a ghost.

Around four Dawson's shift ended and Caine took over. He was young, had just finished his training with top scores and was eager to make a name for himself. He took his role as bodyguard very seriously. Always had a hand on his gun, ready to shoot, which irritated Q immensely. It made the threat seem too close. And as if that wasn't enough, Caine was incredibly talkative. He constantly had another question for Q. About his work. His inventions. About Bond.  
Q hated beind interrogated like this and answered as curtly as possible. Every decent Brit, no, everyone would have gotten the hint. Not Caine, though. However, because the agent would be the only thing standing between the Quartermaster and his death should a thret arise, he tolerated it.

After work Q was brought home by car. His bodyguard escorted him to his apartment door where Q had to ensure him everytime that it was really unnecessary to search his apartment. When he'd finally gotten Caine to leave he was usually so tired that he went straight to bed. Even though he rarely worked after hours - out of lack of work.

Going out was out of question either under the given circumstances, which bothered Q more than he'd assumed. Mainly because it also put almost a complete stop to his regular, nightly meetings with Bond. Caine kept watch in front of the house and would surely have been surprised to see Bond arrive in the evening and leave in the early hours of the morning, a broad grin on his face.  
The situation was unbearable.

 

After a week Q was frustrated, bored and angry enough to rig the laptop of one of his colleagues who was part of the group trying to dig up new information on Thirdman and the hard drive, stealing his passwords. In the evenings when he was finally in his apartment and by himself he logged into his colleague's account an read up on what they'd found out.  
He must have watched the video fivehundred times. Analysed every frame. Followed Thirdman's data tracks which all lead nowhere. In the end he even hacked into Interpol and FBI databases, hoping to find some more on his opponent there. In the end nothing of it garnered any new information.

 

\----------------------------------------------------

 

After three weeks his personal security was reduced to Caine driving him to and from work safely and standing guard in front of his house over night. Within the premises of MI6, he was allowed to roam unguarded and freely again, which was at least some consolation. Thirdman hadn't made contact and they still had no clue who he was or why he had it in for Q. Apart from his vague statement that the Quartermaster had made some of his plans to naught.  
It preyed on Qs mind that he hadn't been able to find anything on Thirdman. He preferred knowing his enemies.

After a while, however, he decided to let it go.

He started working on a series of ideas he'd had in mind for quite a while. With all his other duties he'd just never found the time to carry them into effect. Now he had time and he used it. Programming complex audio monitoring and diagnose programs and building prototypes.

He started working overtime again. Losing himself in gadgets and difficult programming problems.

 

One evening he was re-assembling a new Rolex for 007. Something playful with a few extras. Such things usually were no longer part of the agents' equipment but he knew Bond would love it. Showing off his impeccable timing, Bond entered the room right as Q put the last gears and screws back into place.

"I see you're crafting again", the agent said cheerfully.

"Obviously", Q answered dryly.

"And you seem to have recovered your sharp, witty humour. We should celebrate that. "Bond smiled invitingly. "I've discovered an exquisite Japanese restaurant."

"Trying to literally charm the pants off of me yet again", Q said in mock indignation.

"Only if you want to."

Normally Q would have played hard-to-get for a few more minutes but their last time had been three weeks ago which was why he forgace himself for immediately responding to it. They were already halfway out of the room when Q remembered that Caine was waiting for him.

"I can't", he said, explaining the situation.

"We'll jump right to dessert then", Bond decided pragmatically. He took Qs hand and pulled him down the hall. They landed in an old interrogation room that now only served as storage. The door slammed shut and they immediatly started getting rid of their clothes. Kissing, breathless and demanding. The demanding part mainly coming from Q.

When the bothersome layers of clothing were finally all gone, Bonds kisses wandered from Qs lips to his neck. He nibbled playfully at it and Q gasped.  
Bonds lips wandered lower, exploring Qs body thoroughly. It didn't take long until they'd found what they'd been searching. The quartermaster shuddered, a raw "Oh!" escaping him. That was all he could muster. Any restraint - if there had been any left - melted away.

Bond didn't prolong anything and it couldn't go fast enough for Q anyway.  
They found their rhythm. Kissed each other senseless. Lost the ground under their feet. Q had Bond's name on his lips as his brain stopped for a moment of pure bliss.

They lay next to each other silently for a while afterwards. The ground was hard and uncomfortable, but it didn't bother them.

"That was fantastic," Q sighed after a while.

"Mhm," Bond agreed. "I missed you." Qs face turned scarlet at this sudden confession. 007 wasn't your typical romantic - but he had his moments.

"Me too", Q assured.

"I've noticed", said Bond, laughing that short, rough, lively laugh that sent pleasant shivers down his spine.

 

\----------------------------------------------------

 

"What took you so long?", Caine asked lightly when Q climbed into the car. "I thought you just wanted to quickly finish something."

"Sorry. I got held up", Q explained, having a hard time to keep a straight face.

"No problem", the bodyguard said, starting the car.

The drive didn't take long. It was around midnight and the streets as empty as they got. For a change, Caine was relatively quiet. He only asked once how Qs day had been and - again - about Eve Moneypenny. The way his cheeks flushed at that was more than telling.

"You should ask her out", Q said flat-out.

Caught and somewhat embarrassed Caine threw him a look. "I don't think she would say yes."

"Why not? You're a charming, young man. A good agent. I would advise you try it, "Q encouraged him. The car turned onto his street.

"Yes, maybe I should. Thank you, sir."

The car stopped and Q got out. For the first time in weeks he was completely satisfied. All he needed now was a warm bath, a cup of tea and then sleep.

"You don't have to accompany me upstairs," Q said firmly.

"Yes I do, Sir. If something was to happen to you, I'd be in big trouble." Q had no doubts about that. Though he suspected Caine had thought about M. Q was thinking about Bond and what he would do if he had to find out that his quartermaster was dead. He honestly had no idea but was sure that whatever it was wouldn't be pretty.

He grabbed his briefcase and hoped that this personal security thing would be over soon.

Caine in tow, he took the elevator. His mind already half asleep. He yawned and fumbled for his keys in the inside pocket of his jacket.

"When all of this is over, I'm going to put in a good word for you", Q said upon leaving the lift. "Is there anything you'd like to do? More personal security? Counter espionage? I can't promise anything but I might be able to push M in the right direction."

"You would do that?", Caine asked surprised.

"Sure. You did a good job." And it was true. The agent might talk a lot but he knew without a doubt what he was doing.

"That would mean so much to me!" Caine sounded like a child on christmas eve.

"So, any wishes?", Q asked again, unlocking his door.

"I'd like to - DOWN!"

 

Q reacted more out of reflex. A shot whipped through the air and smashed into the door. His ears rung. The shot must have missed him by mere inches. Bond would have used his battle instincts in such a situation. Q however, failed miserably in this regard. Shocked, he turned and for a moment just stared at his attackers.

They were dressed completely in black. Motorcycle boots with steel toes, black pants, hoodies and - Q swallowed - skull masks.

"Get to safety!", Caine yelled. He had disarmed one of the attackers and used the desperately writhing man as a human shield to get to the other man.  
His heart pounding, Q ran inside his apartment and slammed the door shut. It was situations like this he wished he had a gun.

Another shot made him flinch. A scream, brutally cut off, gave him goosebumps.

One moment there was silence.

 

Then someone fired at the door and Q sought cover behind the couch. The door flew open with a crash. He tried to flee to the bathroom, but one of the masked men stood in his way. Q panicked. His brain played the torture scene from Thirdmans video in a loop. He began to tremble. Only his pride kept him from falling to his knees and begging for mercy.

The second attacker suddenly loomed behind him, a veritable giant of a man, who grabbed his arms and held him firmly in place.

 _Fuck, I'm going to die!_ The thought flashed through Qs mind.

He would miss Bond and he regretted that their relationship had never progressed beyond casual sex. He'd miss his work. He had always enjoyed working for MI6. Now he would not only be the youngest quartermaster, but also the one with the shortest term of office.

The skull man in front of him slapped him.

"Oi! Pay attention! Mr. Thirdman has a message for you, genius", he yelled disparagingly. He punched the quartermaster in the stomach and Q howled in pain. "He said to tell you: No drawbacks!"

The attacker pointed his gun at Q. He aimed for his head and Q closed his eyes, unable to bear looking at the weapon any longer.

He heard the shot the moment the pain set in. He fell to the floor. The collision was hard, forcing a pained scream out of the quartermasters throat.

They hadn't killed him straightaway but instead had aimed somewere near his hip. First that realisation came as a relief but not for long. His wound might not have killed him directly but it would if he didn't get medical care immediately. He rolled onto his side, struggling to get up and succeeding - for a few seconds. Then his legs caved in.

His gaze fell upon his briefcase. _Cellphone!_ , he thought, painfully stretching out his arm and pulling the bag towards him. With jittery movements, he rummaged through it until he finally got hold of his smartphone.

His vision blurred.

The quartermaster squinted and typed Bonds number. Then he pressed the call button. It rang.

 

Once.

Twice.

_Pick up!_

Three times.

_Pick up, forgodssake!_

Four times.

Leaden fatigue weighed on him. He fought to stay conscious.

Five.

If he passed out, he might never wake up again.

Six.

His eyes fell shut.

The last thing he heard was that the call connected.


End file.
